One Minute

I am not writing as myself
because I am at someone
else's keyboard. I just noticed
how one minute apart means that
time is not made of jelly.
One minute apart means that
time, being a slick friend
who calls you a nickname
you hate, is just there, waiting
for you at every turn to tell
you how wrong you are to feel
the way you do and how wrong
you are to keep feeling those
feelings. Time just sits
and waits for you to notice him
clicking, ticking away until
you give in and as Bukoswki once
said, throw the radio out the
window. You want to look at the
cute lady across the way, whose
ass is shining at you while she
gardens but... Time will get
you. He'll steal your courage
and send you into something.
That something you don't want
to say.